In the Indonesian archipelago
the top three thousand feet of a mountain
was blown off,ejecting
smoke, ash, and acid into the atmosphere,
killing tens of thousands of people
and more than that number of animals
and causing massive devastation in the area
And the devastation was not limited
to the immediate area or time
The cloud of smoke and ash
would travel around the world
The next year would be known
in the Northern Hemisphere as
The Year without a Summer:
heavy snows in June
frosts in July and August
“the seasons . . .very unlike what they had formerly been”
“the most adverse to agriculture
which had ever been known”with
“No prospect of crops”
Some of the subsequent years would be almost as cold
And a few more people were now convinced
that smoke in the air could affect the weather
Michael Ceraolo is a 63-year-old retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet who has had two full-length books (Euclid Creek, from Deep Cleveland Press; 500 Cleveland Haiku, from Writing Knights Press) and has two more full-length books, Euclid Creek Book Two, and Lawyers, Guns, and Money, in the publication pipeline.
Heritage by Edilson Afonso Ferreira
Many times, in the day to day, we came across
surprising and unpredictable events,
that leave us breathless and speechless.
Some sad, unwanted and hurtful ones,
which we cannot understand its origins or reasons,
carried out by family, friends, even by ourselves.
We must also remember those, likewise unexpected,
that had brought happiness, joy, and well-being,
which, without better judgment, we accounted
as if had been natural and fully deserved ones.
Indeed, in the harvest we do every day,
we are used to abundance, sometimes to scarcity,
healthy fruits alongside some sick ones.
We should always take into account
that have not been only we who have planted
what we are now reaping.
It had been sowed by parents and grandparents,
also by everyone who preceded us.
Really, it is the heritage we must honor,
interdependent as we are, in our common,
beloved, sometimes so suffering human race.
Edilson Afonso Ferreira , 77 years, is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than in Portuguese. Widely published in selected international journals in print and online, he began writing at age 67, after retiring as a bank employee. Nominated for The Pushcart Prize 2017, his first Poetry Collection, Lonely Sailor, One Hundred Poems, was launched in London, in November of 2018. He is always updating his works at www.edilsonmeloferreira.com.
Hear the coyotes howling,
urging the dark to arrive?
The small bones in your ears hurt
as primal fears parse the noise
into barely digestible bytes.
Yes, they began that gray chorus
soon after you left for Nashua
with the highway trying to warp
itself into a Moebius strip.
Yes, most drivers go crazy
when spring light decays in shades
of ecru the eye can’t process.
A wonder you got home alive
to hear the coyotes desiccate
the over-familiar distance
between the wooded horizon
and the post-glacial hills beyond.
The Spanish Revolution failed
or succeeded before our birth,
but the howling of coyotes
invokes the pack mentality
that drew martyrs to the flames.
Would you self-sacrifice to save
Picasso’s Guernica from grief
atonal as the end of the world?
You drove to Nashua to shop,
but the coyotes could explain
the carnivorous point of view
more clearly than the meat cutters
at the supermarket you favor.
We’d better get the groceries inside
before the coyotes finish
tuning up for a long pale night,
their appetites so perfected
we might be tempted to imitate
by baring our secret fangs.
William Doreski has published three critical studies and several collections of poetry. His work has appeared in many print and online journals. He has taught at Emerson College, Goddard College, Boston University, and Keene State College. His most recent books are Water Music and Train to Providence. williamdoreski.blogspot.com
view of current world
as First (us), Second (Commies)
well as Third (have-nots)
— condescending, out-of-date —
we all fight the COVID fall.
Gerard Sarnat won the Poetry in the Arts First Place Award plus the Dorfman Prize, and has been nominated for a handful of recent Pushcarts plus Best of the Net Awards. Gerry is widely published in academic-related journals (e.g., Universities of Chicago/ Maine/ San Francisco/Toronto, Stanford, Oberlin, Brown, Columbia, Harvard, Pomona, Johns Hopkins, Wesleyan, Penn, Dartmouth, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Baltimore) plus national (e.g., Gargoyle, Main Street Rag, New Delta Review, MiPOesias, American Journal Of Poetry, Parhelion, Clementine, pamplemousse, Red Wheelbarrow, Deluge, Poetry Quarterly, poetica, Tipton Journal, Hypnopomp, Free State Review, Poetry Circle, Buddhist Poetry Review, Poets And War, Thank You For Your Service Anthology, Wordpeace, Cliterature, Qommunicate, Indolent Books, Snapdragon, Pandemonium Press, Boston Literary Magazine, Montana Mouthful, Arkansas Review, Texas Review, San Antonio Review, Brooklyn Review, pacificREVIEW, San Francisco Magazine, The Los Angeles Review, Fiction Southeast and The New York Times) and international publications (e.g., Review Berlin, Voices Israel, Foreign Lit, New Ulster, Transnational, Southbank, Wellington Street Review). He’s authored the collections Homeless Chronicles: From Abraham to Burning Man (2010), Disputes (2012), 17s (2014), Melting the Ice King (2016). Gerry is a physician who’s built and staffed clinics for the marginalized as well as a Stanford professor and healthcare CEO. Currently he is devoting energy/ resources to deal with climate change justice. Gerry’s been married since 1969 with three kids plus six grandsons, and is looking forward to future granddaughters.
This is where all the beer
in the world ends up, where
Oscar-winning actors fallen
on hard times congregate.
This is where the guy you
thought was your next door
neighbor, maybe a distant
cousin, turns out to be
a closet billionaire. This
is rock and roll subjugated
by the tumbler, pulled out
smooth, polished, ready
for the sterile display case.
This is the sanitized biopic
that turns a racist into a paragon
of inclusivity. This is Tabasco
in place of gochujang, Kamchatka
in place of Nic Cage. This is where
the pipe diverts, heads off
to sump straight into the sea.
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Red Coyote Review, Deep South Magazine, and Aromatica Poetica, among others.
Chained to the great rock
atop Mt. Caucausus
did you dream of Epimetheas
somewhere below, did you foresee
Pandora, her evil gleam
reflected in the love struck eyes
of your brother, a gift of the Gods
not to be ignored despite your entreaties.
Was that the price of fire
secreted by the Gods
until stolen in your tube.
Didn’t you see the great cloud
rise quickly from the rubble
and glowing ash
of Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
the core settle into the earth
a hole in Chernobyl.
Were these the visions
that ate at you
plucking at your liver
from its philosophical aerie
your resolve returned
each day in the office
nestled into the New Jersey countryside.
You waited patiently
for your redemption
for the eagle of doubt
to be felled by logic
freeing your to pursue Irene.
We continue your quest
although the Gods
have grown bored with us
and Pandora has moved
Louis Faber’s work has previously appeared in Exquisite Corpse, Rattle, Eureka Literary Magazine, Borderlands: the Texas Poetry Review, Midnight Mind, Pearl, Midstream, European Judaism, Greens Magazine, The Amethyst Review, Afterthoughts, The South Carolina Review and Worcester Review, among many others, and he has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
nameless in a crowd
at table six
is the tableau of good
people but will
I remember them no
sometimes a lady wears a red
dress and it is the table
cloth and you will not dirty
your hands not with no
one dancing one is
dancing to these cliched
songs and my only friend
here knows it’s not about
me she’s the one
getting married the bartender
has my back offering
me champagne pop
this wine I consume
and wonder about good
decisions the groom’s dad
made a speech about
good decisions and personally
I wonder if this is a good
one he claims it is
at least I have learned
James Croal Jackson (he/him/his) is a Filipino-American poet. He has a chapbook, The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), and recent poems in DASH, Sampsonia Way, and Jam & Sand. He edits The Mantle (themantlepoetry.com). He works in film production in Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)
Disbelief, is it or inability?
Endeavours to resolve,
with given complexity,
of this universe.
Is it then sardonic?
These pursuits and
unevenly matched failures,
the depths of, simple,
docile emotions pressed
against absolute perplexity.
Mohammad Saif is currently working as a Visiting Faculty with Amity Institute of English Studies and Research, Amity University, and teaches English and Communication skills at undergraduate and postgraduate level. He earned Distinction in M.Phil. for his dissertation ‘A Study of Selected Narratives on the Tradition and Practice of Al-Hijama’. Driven by sheer alacrity and insatiable thirst for knowledge he seeks growth in the field of academia.
As light sifts down the hills
behind the barn, she sits with
her coffee cup watching
sparrows rest on the wire,
a red bird’s wing cutting
across her stare, the sunset
soaking into the iris of her
eye as she leans towards
her golden years. Now it is
July with its hot thick yellow
days and an owl feather
floating in a little pond;
a mare that still grazes
near the fence, head down,
content in sweet grass.
Her heart rises, framing
her life by the kitchen
window, the desert of
her dreams now so far
away, the closeness of
her family wrapped around
her every day, comforted
always be the voice of
Bobbi Sinha-Morey’s poetry has appeared in a wide variety of places such as Plainsongs, Pirene’s Fountain,The Wayfarer, Helix Magazine, Miller’s Pond, The Tau, Vita Brevis, Cascadia Rising Review, Old Red Kimono, and Woods Reader. Her books of poetry are available at www.Amazon.com and her work has been nominated for Best of the Net in 2015, the Best of the Net 2018 Anthology Awards hosted by Sundress Publications, and the 2020 Best of the Net anthology. Her website is located at http://bobbisinhamorey.wordpress.com.
my multi colored feathers
shine. Your jailers
are no obstacle, it’s my
nature to rise.
El tiempo me dice,
A jugado tanto con el amor
que ya no sabe amar. *
Camina, corre, cabalga.
Now what, where will you
go from here?
¿A que nueva cárcel
¿A qué otro silencio?
It pains me to know
that tomorrow’s daylight
might bring you tears.
Niños del color
de mis tristezas jugando
frente al mar
en casa de cartón.*
Your choice, not mine.
Make sure you don’t hurt
yourself while trying
to save me.
*He’s played so much with love
that he cannot love
*What new prison will you exile me to? To what other silence
Am I being banished to?
*Children the color of my sadness playing in a cardboard house in front of the sea.
Sergio A. Ortiz is a retired, Educator, Bilingual-Gay PRican Poet, Human Rights Advocate. Pushcart nominee, Best of the Web, Best of the Net. He took 2nd place in the 2016 Ramón Ataz annual poetry competition, sponsored by Alaire Publishing House. He workshops his poetry in RatsAssReview workshop. Recent credits include Spanish audio poems in Parragon Press, South Florida Poetry Journal, RatsAssReview, The Maynard, and Spillwords. He is the Founder of Undertow Tanka Poetry Review now Undertow Poetry Review, La Resaca. His chapbook, Welcome To My Archipelago, will be published by Parragon Press.
Translated by Manu Mangattu
Ah! Of iridescent gems of time
The heavenly road you paved light！
In a kingdom of stars,
I found my home.
In the golden cities,
I opened the gates of the city to the sun,
To behold the godly giants.
At the royal palace of the jewel
I read of prehistoric wonderful poems
The enormous, gorgeous ancient books.
Carved with the golden words
The wondrous strange mystery tales,
Made my eyes drunken.
I walked into the full new universes,
And saw the holy kingdoms:
Even before the earth was born
The erstwhile home of human history.
Across Time and Space in crystalline glitter
Stands this moment a platinum city –
The spaceships drifting leisurely,
Like the birds, resplendent in variegated hues.
In the crystal garden I saw
A crowd of youthful giants,
Their eyes were bright and glittering
In the aura of the body sparkle..
They sang happy songs
They danced a wonderful dance
Lanky boys and girls in pairs
As if to celebrate the splendid carnival.
I saw a circular edifice
High above the city.
Giving out white-bright lightnings.
Raised ground to fly into the quiet space.
A frame of platinum edifice
Creating a beautiful pattern.
The whole city is a circle
Arranged into a fine structure.
Into a bright hall I went.
A strange instrument there I saw.
A huge screen hanging on the wall,
Displaying a golden space.
Like bits of colourful crystal gemstones!
Resplendent with variegated colours of the city!
Those strange and beautiful high-rise buildings
A sight better than the myth of the world.
I saw lines of strange letters.
On one side of the screen flashed swiftly
Numerous young and strong giants
An effort to concentrate on the changing images.
Their look is quiet and peaceful.
The learned flame flashes in their eyes.
In a flash of clothes
The next is a whole.
Their stature, unusually tall.
Each one is well-nigh seven meters high.
Both men and women look dignified
Almost no age difference apparent.
Their skin is white as snow
With a faint flashy shine
Bright eyes are as naive as an infant’s
Also kindled with a strange flame.
They manipulate the magic of the instrument.
The pictures of the changing space.
Their language is artless and plane.
As the bell is generally pleasant.
As I survey the length and breadth of the bright hall
I feel a powerful energy
Body and mind suffused with bliss and delight.
As if I too am a giant.
I seem to understand their language.
They are exploring the mysteries of the universe.
The cities on a lot of planets
Peopled with their countless partners.
Their mind they use to manipulate the instrument
Also can to transfer data be used
Even thousands of miles apart
Also to talk free to the heart.
Many lines of text on the screen
Is but a message from afar.
The whole universe is their home.
They build cities in space.
They use the spaceships
To transport you to far-distant other spaces.
Into a lightning, a moment, and you
Vanish into thin air, without a trace.
I feel a new civilization.
They have magical eyes.
They seem to be able to see the future
And can enter diverse time-spaces.
Men and women are holy and loving
Superior to our world’s so-called love
They don’t seem to understand ageing
Neither do they know about war.
Time seems not to exist
Science is jut a wonderful art
Their happiness comes from the creation of
A universe full of divine love.
I saw a young giant
Opening the door of a platinum
A round, magnificent hall
Packed with rows of giant s of men and women.
I saw a crystal stage.
Gyrating at the center of the hall.
Where a dignified and beautiful girl
Was playing a huge musical instrument.
A bunch of golden rays,
Shifting with all kinds of brilliant graphics
A mysterious and beautiful music
Like the Dragon leisurely crowing.
Thence I saw an enormous giant
Jump out of the remarkable dance onto the stage.
His hands held a huge ball
Which flashed with many colourful drawing .
I saw a group of young girls
Wearing a kind of white dresses
They seemed to fly lightly
Like the giant cranes.
The huge circular hall was resplendent
With clear, transparent decoration.
Like a bizarre gem of a full set，
Scintillating brilliantly in the light.
I saw a young singer
About the golden flame
The sound was strange and striking
Like singing , like chanting too.
Their music is at once mysterious and blissful
That shift randomly like the lightning
As if many planets of the universe
Shining bright and light in space.
The crystal city, aloft in space
Looks resplendent, magnificent
Countless wonderful golden flowers
Bloom and blush in that flawless space.
I saw an image of a transparent smiling face,
As if it were a colourful garden
The sky shed the golden light
And turned it into a city of gold.
I strode out of the circular hall
Came to a wide street with a smooth
Pavement covered with precious stones
And in line with the platinum edifice.
There are no terrestrial trees here,
But they are in full bloom with a lot of exotic flowers.
Sparkling with rich incense,
Shaping a garden at the center of the street.
Some strange flowers were there.
The branches as transparent crystal
Flashing all kinds of brilliant colours;
And bunches of round golden fruit.
I saw a huge statue.
It was like a spaceship.
Clustered around by shining stars,
High above the centre of the street.
I saw the column of a dazzling fountain
In a huge circle in the square;
The elegantly modelled statues
Portraying the holy giants.
The soaring magnificent edifices
Ran round the circle square.
There were some garden villas
There was a platinum steeple.
I saw a wide river
Girdling this huge city
The bottom flashed with transparent gold dust,
Amidst which were scattered brilliant gems.
The planning of tall trees on shore
And a long crystal corridor
A big multi-coloured bird
Three five one group floated on the surface of the water.
I saw a vast forest
The swaying tree, a tree of gold
The trees with towering spires
And as some platinum Pavilion.
I saw some giants along the walk,
Some male and female bodybuilders.
At the water’s brink or in the forest
Like birds carefree and relaxed.
The wonderful space was as bright as crystal
Embraced this platinum city;
A giant, white and bright ball
Flashing boundless light into the air.
It resembled the huge suns
And like the man-made planets
The whole city was shining too,
Weaving a rare breed of magic.
A strange speeding train circled
About the city back and forth;
There seemed to be a kind of track in the sky
Like a shiny silver curve.
They seated body white buildings
As if it was a dreamlike maze
This huge city was unusually quiet,
Could not even hear the sound of the wind.
I bade goodbye to the platinum city.
Near a golden space
Stands another city here
A huge city of gold.
The building here is also huge.
But it’s another beautiful shape.
The whole city is glittering
Golden edifice as beautiful as sculpture.
Here there live some other giants.
As if from another nation
They have boundless wisdom.
Like a golden, holy civilization.
Manu Mangattu is an English Professor, poet, editor, director and rank-holder. He has published 7 books, 73 research articles and 36 conference papers apart from 14 edited volumes with ISBN. He serves as chief editor/editor for various international journals. He has done UGC funded projects and a SWAYAM-MOOC course (Rs 15 lakhs). Besides translations from Chinese and Sanskrit, he writes poetry in English as well as in Indian languages. He was named “Comrade to Poetry China” in 2016. A visiting faculty at various universities and a quintessential bohemian-vagabond, he conducts poetry readings, workshops and lectures when inspired. After an apprenticeship in Shakespeare under Dr Stephen Greenblatt, he currently guides 23 research scholars and mentors NET English aspirants.
Yuan Hongri (born 1962) is a renowned Chinese mystic, poet, and philosopher. His work has been published in the UK, USA, India, New Zealand, Canada, and Nigeria; his poems have appeared in Poet’s Espresso Review, Orbis, Tipton Poetry Journal, Harbinger Asylum, The Stray Branch, Acumen, Pinyon Review, Taj Mahal Review, Madswirl, Shot Glass Journal, Amethyst Review, Fine Lines, and other e-zines, anthologies, and journals. His best known works are“Platinum City”and “Golden Giant”. His works explore themes of prehistoric and future civilization.